


Drinking Habits

by Moonfreckle (Sunfreckle), Sunfreckle



Series: Sweet like Blood, Sugar [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (which here means only kissing and biting and grabbing hair), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Vampire Sex, part of a larger universe but works on its own
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 10:30:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19271428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Moonfreckle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/pseuds/Sunfreckle
Summary: “It isn’t fair,” Enjolras insists. “We should drink from each other equally.Grantaire grins. “If I drank from you like you drink from me, I’d burn up,” he laughs softly. “But…” He leans in to distract Enjolras with a kiss to his cheek. “That is a good place to start.”“What place?” Enjolras mumbles, his head tipping towards Grantaire’s a little.“I could show you a slower way of drinking…” He smiles almost drowsily at the way Enjolras’ eyes seem to have darkened and ghosts a kiss against his slightly parted lips. “How does that sound?”[Vampire smut for after Undead and Urban Society, but can be read on its own.]





	Drinking Habits

**Author's Note:**

> I decided _not_ to put this in "Stray Drops" because it's a bit more...everything.  
> Still no actual sex though, just a lot of blood and love bites~
> 
> (This is for you Deb <3)

“That’s all going well then,” Courfeyrac concludes contentedly after listening to Combeferre and Enjolras’ summary of their last dealings with Rotterdam.

“I’d say so,” Combeferre smiles. “Did you have anything to add, Enj?”

Enjolras hesitates. “Yes,” he starts. “Well- Not about the meeting.”

Courfeyrac is immediately all pleasant attention. “Oh?”

Enjolras would rather not discuss this of course, but it’s important. He folds his hands on the table in front of him. “We haven’t really been keeping our regular feeding schedule lately,” he says, speaking to both his friends at once. “And since that is my responsibility, I thought I should say something.”

Ever since Courfeyrac and Combeferre offered to make sure he could feed – after they confirmed he couldn’t keep down animal blood and he had point blank refused to drink from wards, even after they donated their blood willingly – the three of them had kept a strict schedule.

Enjolras fed once a month, just enough, no more. Exactly enough to never go hungry. He preferred drinking from Ferre, who fed exclusively on animal blood. Courfeyrac’s treatment of his wards – well, mistresses – was beyond reproach, but drinking from him would still put more strain on them. Enjolras preferred not to. But Combeferre’s drinking habits were not so regular nor so indulgent as Courfeyrac’s and on any given day, Courf was usually the one in the best position to share.

In any case, they had made it work, for nearly a decade. And Enjolras has never had a reason to break that pattern.

Until Grantaire.

He clears his throat. “I just wanted to make it clear for you that I’m not neglecting to feed. I’m not going hungry. I just, haven’t been in need of blood. From you.”

“No,” Courfeyrac replies, and his dark eyes have taken on a twinkle that Enjolras is particular familiar with. “No, we can see that.”

He is clearly making an effort not to grin.

“Very sweet of you to inform us, ami, but I can’t say I was ever concerned. You have a _lovely_ healthy glow about you.”

It is remarkable how, even without the blood to blush, Enjolras can still feel the embarrassment prickling on his cheeks. “Can you please not.”

“You opened the subject, mon cher!” Courfeyrac chirps. “And you’re right, it _is_ important.” The grin is starting to shimmer through. “You and Grantaire _are_ being careful, right?”

“Courf,” Combeferre admonishes amusedly.

“It was a genuine question,” Courfeyrac defends himself and his expression does turn slightly less teasing. “It’s a very different way of feeding.”

It is a good thing that during the past nine years Enjolras has gotten extremely good at avoiding eye contact with Courfeyrac. “We are working on finding a balance,” he mutters.

“As long as you keep track of it somehow,” Combeferre says pleasantly, ever practical. “Feeding in passion is all very well, but it’s erratic. You do need to make sure you get enough, and frequently enough.”

Enjolras nods vaguely and makes a nondescript noise.

Somehow he doesn’t think _that_ is going to be an issue.

 

~~~

 

Enjolras is doing his level best to be quiet. He’s pretty sure Jehan hasn’t gone to sleep yet and— Grantaire digs his fingers into the back of his neck and Enjolras’ thoughts scatter. He lets his lips press against Grantaire’s again, grateful neither of them has a need for oxygen as he swallows down the muffled, eager sound humming in his throat. He has ended up fully on top of Grantaire again, their bodies engaged in the usual struggle of Grantaire’s more trained physique and Enjolras’ raw strength. Enjolras still isn’t quite used to the fact that he _likes_ the feeling of Grantaire struggling against him. He breaks out of the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at Grantaire’s face in the dark. R’s eyes are darkened, his lips wet and smirking, and Enjolras huffs out a weak noise before hastily kissing down Grantaire’s jaw and neck.

Grantaire’s laugh is so low it’s barely audible, but Enjolras can feel the vibrations of it in his chest. He presses down on Grantaire a little harder and Grantaire pushes back, arching his back and grabbing at the fabric of Enjolras’ shirt. Enjolras groans softly, burying his face in Grantaire’s neck to keep quiet.

A shiver goes through down his spine and twists in his middle. No one’s blood has ever smelled as strong to him as Grantaire’s. Enjolras’ mouth has opened against R’s skin without him even realising. He stops himself just in time, just before his fangs sink down.

“Nng,” Grantaire protests, his fingers suddenly grabbing into Enjolras’ hair, urging him on.

“R,” Enjolras groans and Grantaire lets go of him immediately

“Sorry-”

Enjolras winces at the hasty apology. That’s not what he meant either.

“I can’t, R,” he sighs, hiding his face against his shoulder a single moment longer before pushing himself up far enough to look at Grantaire.

Grantaire’s eyes are fully open now, alert, and slightly puzzled. But his hair is still mussed and his lips still wet… Enjolras blinks.

For a moment something cautious colours in Grantaire’s eyes. “Everything okay?”

Enjolras nods. He looks at Grantaire’s lips again. “I’m good, promise…”

He kisses him again, gentler this time and Grantaire kisses back in that unhurried, blissful, almost worshipping way that Enjolras can somehow feel reach into his body and latch onto every hungry, heated feeling he has ever felt. He leans into the kiss some more, just a _little_ more, just enough keep that yearning quiet and before he knows it his lips are trailing down Grantaire’s neck again and he’s bearing his fangs. Grantaire makes an eager sound at the back of his throat and Enjolras can actually feel his fingers digging into Grantaire’s shoulder and the back of his neck to keep him steady before he manages to stop himself.

He rolls off Grantaire with a frustrated cry halfway to his lips.

…

It genuinely takes Grantaire a moment fight the overwhelming urge to drag Enj back on top of him. The fact that he can literally still feel the hunger in Enjolras’ touches sticking to his skin isn’t helping. He doesn’t reach out for him, but he does make a soft, mournful noise when Enjolras sits up.

“Where are you going?” he complains with a slight groan. The feeling of Enjolras’ fangs pressed to his neck still hasn’t left him.

“Sorry,” Enjolras’ mutters abruptly. “Just, give me a moment.” And his voice sounds so tense that Grantaire sits up as well.

“Enj, cool out,” he pleads, trying to get Enjolras to look at him. “What’s wrong?”

Enjolras does look at him, but he doesn’t say anything. He just looks, as if he’s convinced he’s done something wrong.

“Hey,” Grantaire murmurs, the uncertainty he felt a few moments back returning. “…you know you don’t have to bite me, right? If you don’t want to.”

A strange, sudden look passes across Enjolras’ face. “Oh I want to,” he breathes and there is just the hint of a growl to his voice. Enough to make Grantaire’s brain stutter for a second.

“…okay.” It comes out rather inaudible due to him having forgotten to breathe. God, he wasn’t wrong about the hunger. He swallows, searching Enjolras’ face for an explanation as to why he does not currently have his boyfriend’s fangs buried deep in the curve of his neck, if that is what they _both_ want right now.

Enjolras looks back at him soberly. “I already fed on you yesterday, R.”

Oh. Is _that_ what this is about. Grantaire runs a hand through his hair, trying to work out the best thing to say. Enjolras gets very hung up on the technicalities of feeding sometimes, and Grantaire really cannot blame him. On the other hand, he _really_ needs to make it clear to him that this is not at all an issue in this case. Or at least it doesn’t have to be.

“This isn’t feeding, though,” he finally says, shifting his weight slightly to be closer to his him. “It’s…drinking recreationally.”

“I know that,” Enjolras says earnestly. “And I don’t see it as the same thing, at all.”

His blue eyes have that intense sincerity in them again that used to nearly knock Grantaire out, back in the beginning of their friendship.

“But it amounts to the same thing,” Enjolras says soberly. “Blood intake-wise.”

“Yeah, well,” Grantaire grins. “There are different ways to go about that, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras blinks at him.

“I mean,” Grantaire smirks, drawing closer. “That when you drink from me you go at it like to want to _drain_ me. Don’t get me wrong,” he adds quickly. “I am _not_ complaining. I’m _really_ fucking into it. And I know to stock up on blood when you stay over.”

Enjolras looks mildly mortified and Grantaire catches one of his hands to keep him from pulling away.

“But if you’re worried about it, if the idea of drinking too much bothers you, we can work that out.” He looks into Enj’s eyes. “Again,” he reiterates. “I don’t mind.” He lifts Enjolras’ hand to his lips and gently kisses his wrist, muttering against his skin: “The night I complain about you being hungry for me they can walk me out into the sunlight.”

Enjolras sighs slightly, his body relaxing, but his expression no less concerned. “It’s a bad habit,” he mutters. I can’t let myself get used to drinking that much. It’s irresponsible.”

Grantaire hums, not quite done with kissing his boyfriend’s hand. Anything to make Enjolras feel that this doesn’t have to be as heavy and serious a talk as he’s making it. It seems to be working too, as he kisses Enjolras fingers. A little at least, his voice is getting gentler when he speaks again.

“Besides, it isn’t fair.” Enjolras’ eyes go a little distracted as Grantaire looks at him across the curve of his own knuckles. “We should drink from each other equally.

Equality. Grantaire grins, warmth bright in his chest. “If I drank from you like you drink from me, I’d burn up,” he laughs softly. “But…” He leans in to distract Enjolras with a kiss to his cheek before he can take this as proof of him going too far. “That _is_ a good place to start.”

“What place?” Enjolras mumbles, his head tipping towards Grantaire’s a little.

It is still almost enough to make him giddy, that he can literally distract Enjolras – _Enjolras_ – from moral quandaries with the desire to kiss him.

“I could show you a slower way of drinking…”

He smiles almost drowsily at the way Enjolras’ eyes seem to have darkened and ghosts a kiss against his slightly parted lips.

“How does that sound?”

Enjolras sighs slightly, his head tipping gently to the side when Grantaire brings his hand up to cup his cheek. “Yeah…” he mutters, looking from Grantaire’s eyes to his lips. “That sounds—”

He closes the gap between them without finishing the sentence and Grantaire grins into the slightly clumsy kiss. Enjolras fingers are digging into his back, trying to pull him closer.

“Was that a yes?” he mutters teasingly against Enjolras’ lips.

“Yes,” Enjolras groans softly.

Grantaire hums, leaning into the kiss to deepen it again, but this time he gently shifts his weight into Enjolras, until Enjolras gives in and lies back. He leans over him, letting Enjolras settle comfortably into the mattress as their kiss slowly grows more shallow.

After gently pulling out of the kiss, Grantaire drops a few more leisurely kisses on Enjolras’ cheeks, nuzzling softly against his jaw and tracing his fingers down his chest to make sure he has truly relaxed again.

Then he slides his hands under Enjolras’ shirt, running them lovingly up his sides and his stomach before pulling the shirt off him and tossing it to the end of the bed. When Enjolras has laid back down again, Grantaire leans over him with a smile that is wide enough to bare his fangs. Enjolras looks like marble and gold, half-undressed and with his hair spread out on the green duvet. He reaches out a hand and traces down Enjolras’ neck with two fingers, leaning in to press a kiss against the curve of his neck.

“First secret is, don’t, start, here,” he mutters, pressing kisses down Enj’s neck to punctuate the words.

“Right—” Enjolras breathes with a slight hitch to his voice.

Grantaire inhales the intoxicating scent of Enjolras’ blood and closes his eyes for a moment, wondering why exactly he is doing this to himself. Then he feels Enjolras’ muscles tense eagerly under the hand he has pressed against his stomach and he remembers. Oh right, that’s why.

…

Enjolras can feel Grantaire’s fangs as he grins against his skin and he nearly squirms. The desire to bite Grantaire is blurring together with his need to be bitten _by_ him and the way Grantaire is currently slowly kissing his way towards his collar bones is infuriating.

“R,” he groans, but Grantaire only makes a soft, amused noise and lets his hand slide up his chest again as his kisses travel lower.

His teeth graze his chest, right over his heart and Enjolras sighs out his last breath, forgetting to breathe back in. He lies with his head tipped back onto the pillow and his eyes staring unfocussed at the ceiling, sinking into the feeling of Grantaire’s teasing kisses trailing slowly down his chest.

He feels Grantaire is speaking before he hears him, the vibrations of his words humming through his breathless, pulseless body. “Want to know the second secret?” he mutters in muffled words against the curve just under Enjolras’ ribcage.

Enjolras cannot answer him without drawing breath and he may have forgotten how to at the moment.

Grantaire chuckles. “… _second_ secret’s—”

Enjolras’ lungs fill with air in frantic involuntary gasp as Grantaire’s fangs sink into his side. The heat of the bite, immediately followed by the hot pull on his blood of Grantaire’s sudden drinking, makes his back arch. Grantaire lets him squirm, pressing down with one arm just enough to keep him close enough to keep drinking and Enjolras keens.

And then it’s over.

Grantaire pulls away with a groan of adoration and Enjolras makes a frantic noise of his own. But before he can protest he catches just a glimpse of Grantaire’s face, his mouth bloodied and his fangs bared, before he ducks his head back down and presses rough kisses down his stomach.

Enjolras can _feel_ the smudges of blood Grantaire’s lips leave on his skin and he’s about to murmur at least something about wasteful drinking, when the sensation of Grantaire’s tongue against his skin shuts him up before he’s even begun.

Grantaire makes an amused, indulgent noise, licking his lips before kissing him again. This time his kiss is gentler and Enjolas just manages to gather enough breath and presence of mind to groan:

“Is the secret just messing with me?”

There will never be a time the sound of Grantaire’s laugh doesn’t make him feel things, even when his body already seems full up with other sensations, and Enjolras closes his eyes momentarily while Grantaire laughs. He opens them again when he feels Grantaire’s fingers close around his wrist, and watches with hazy feelings clouding his mind how Grantaire lifts his hand to his mouth.

“That’s terribly reductive of you, Enjolras,” he tuts, pressing a kiss to his palm before slowly trailing his lips down his wrist. “You better pay attention. I may need to test you later—”

Enjolras expects the prick of his fangs in his wrist, he _wants_ to feel R kiss his way straight into his veins, but all he gets is soft lips and teasing murmurs. Just for a moment, he gets lost in the sound of a single whispered compliment, paired with the gentlest of kisses pressed to his skin. Then there’s a flicker of stained fangs at the edge of his vision and Grantaire bites into his arm and _drinks_.

This time Enjolras remembers to watch. To see Grantaire tangle the two of them together as he draws part of Enjolras into himself. And Grantaire, as if he can feel Enjolras’ eyes upon him, lifts up his own eyes and looks back at him. Grey-speckled blue gazing from behind mussed up dark curls, and filled with so much genuine adoration and hunger that Enjolras forgets ever feeling like he was starving.

He doesn’t protest when Grantaire breaks away, he reaches out for him with the already healing arm he was bleeding from only a second ago. Grantaire doesn’t tease or pull away, he lets Enjolras grab him by the back of his neck and Enjolras eagerly pulls him back up to be level with his face. Grantaire’s eyes are darkened and his lips red, and he’s smiling, _grinning_ , with the smell of Enjolras’ own blood still clinging to him like something Enjolras could kiss off his lips. Instead of trying, though, he drags Grantaire down on top of him, guiding his straight to the crook of his neck.

Grantaire’s arms wrap around him, pushing him up from the mattress to dig his fingers into his back at the same time as his teeth scrape down his neck. Enjolras arches towards him, his breath hitching eagerly and he grabs a handful of Grantaire’s hair just in time. This kiss breaks his skin and for as long as it lasts Enjolras’ feels the tension that has built up in his body wrap around him like a singing string.

A whine spills from his lips when Grantaire pulls away, but it dies as soon as Grantaire presses his mouth against his. Enjolras barely feels the hand sliding into his hair, he is too lost in the taste of the kiss, first full of the proof of Grantaire’s hunger for him and then heavier and headier still, as R’s blood mingles with his on his tongue.

It is merely a taste, barely enough to need swallowing down, but Enjolras’ head swims. His body shakes against Grantaire’s and it only stops when the kiss does.

Their lips leave each other, slowly, Enjolras in dazed silence, and Grantaire with a gasp that serves only to give him enough breath to murmur something adoring.

He sinks down on top of Enjolras, resting his head against his shoulder, lying on his chest with a comforting weight. After a moment or two Enjolras wakes enough to move and slowly rakes his fingers through Grantaire’s hair. R is holding on to him like he always does after drinking, his face nearly hidden against him, almost clinging, breathing in and out slowly to not lose the taste of his blood all at once. Enjolras can still feel his body singing with the echo of dissipated tension. He smiles.

“What were the last secrets?” he asks drowsily, stroking down his back with his other hand.

“Dunno,” Grantaire mumbles, with half a grin audible in his voice. “Too drunk.”

Enjolras hums, slowly licking his lips as his gaze drifts to the ceiling again.

“I love you…” Grantaire breathes in the quiet that follows.

“And I you,” Enjolras replies, looking down at where Grantaire’s dark head is still resting against his chest.

Grantaire makes a soft noise of appreciation and pushing himself up just enough to meet Enjolras’ eyes. “So about that test-”

Enjolras snorts out a laugh, and pulls Grantaire into one more kiss.

…

He’s probably going to regret this, Grantaire thinks as he kisses the smile from Enjolras’ lips. Most likely around this same time tomorrow, when Enjolras has him pressed against his bedroom wall for some payback.

But right now he is impervious to regret.

He is drunk on lover’s blood, and he can no longer taste even a shred of hesitance in Enjolras’ kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading~
> 
> And thanks to Jane, Azura and my sister dear for helping when I was stuck!


End file.
